


Ten Minutes

by magenta



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blindfolds, Community: kink_bingo, Established Relationship, Light Bondage, M/M, Sensory Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-16
Updated: 2012-08-16
Packaged: 2017-11-12 07:22:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/488216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magenta/pseuds/magenta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were shattered, both of them, but Sherlock wouldn't stop, couldn't stop, and John would never be able to sleep if he left him like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ten Minutes

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the sensory deprivation square on my kink_bingo card. Betaed by janescott. Thanks, Jane!
> 
> Also, if you like this story, come bid on me in the AO3 Fic Auction and I'll write something for you! http://ao3auction.tumblr.com/magenta

It was late, so late that it was edging up onto early, and John's eyes were getting bleary as he blinked at his laptop screen. They were working a case, some case from somewhere, and John was certain that he couldn't have remembered the details under pain of death. He'd been staring at the same table of data for hours, hell, maybe days, trying to make sense of it, but he couldn't, not with Sherlock pacing around him, muttering and shouting and pinning bits of paper and rubbish to the wall so violently they were out of knives. They were shattered, both of them, but Sherlock wouldn't stop, couldn't stop, and John would never be able to sleep if he left him like this.

"Sherlock, maybe we should go to bed, try again tomorrow with fresh eyes."

"Nonsense, if I sleep I'll only lose the headway I've made. Must keep going." 

John chose to ignore the total lack of mention of the hours he'd put in on this, and pushed himself back from the desk, standing and wincing at the bones in his back popped. 

“Come on, it’ll all still be there in a few hours, you’re not even making sense anymore.” John gestured to the last note Sherlock had pinned to the wall, scrawled all over with “banana”, “pony” and more exclamation points than John had likely ever used in his life.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, perhaps considering and perhaps murderous, but shook his head and was off again, pushing John out of the way and leaning over his laptop. “It all makes sense in here, John.” Sherlock tapped the side of his head, his hair billowing around his head in a dark cloud. “You’re more than welcome to sleep, but I don’t need it.” He grabbed a pencil off the desk and crammed it between his teeth, and John winced when he heard the wood crack.

“Sherlock.” He didn’t answer, but John hadn’t expected him to. The conversation was over for Sherlock, simple as that. Unfortunately, John didn’t give up that easily. He stepped closer and let his voice drop, resting a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, rubbing his fingers over the soft material of his dressing gown. “Sherlock.”

He felt Sherlock tense beneath his hand and then relax, just like he always did. Sherlock turned his head and looked up at him, and John pretended he wasn’t just being humoured. “Yes, John?”

“Ten minutes. Come to bed for ten minutes, and after that if you still don’t want to sleep, I won’t ask again.”

Sherlock looked at him for a long moment, glanced back at the laptop screen and sighed, deep and long-suffering. “Ten minutes.”

John couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face as he pulled Sherlock to his feet and guided him to the bedroom. There was so much he could do in ten minutes. 

It took him barely one minute to get them both naked and Sherlock spread out across the bed, and another two to gather his wrists together and knot them firmly to the headboard with a discarded tie, another discarded tie finding new life wrapped around Sherlock’s eyes as a blindfold. Sherlock was shifting nervously, his fingers twitching like he was still writing, his lips moving in tiny movements that John would’ve missed if he didn’t know what to look for. He leaned in and pressed his lips against Sherlock’s ear and whispered softly, reaching up to tangle their fingers together and still Sherlock’s.

“Just, shush for a minute. Focus on me.”

Sherlock huffed impatiently, but John was used to that and just grinned before darting his tongue out to swirl around the edge of Sherlock’s ear. He was rewarded with a soft gasp, and so he went on. He pressed a kiss just behind Sherlock’s ear, feeling his pulse beating there and scraped his teeth over the defined line of Sherlock’s jaw, feeling the slight rasp of stubble. He felt Sherlock’s arms moving and spares a quick glance up, but saw that he had twisted his hands to hang onto the scarf, and didn’t seem to be untying the knots. John took this as a good sign and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of Sherlock’s mouth, their lips just barely meeting. Sherlock’s breath was hot against his cheek and smelled of curry when he made another impatient sound. He tried to catch John’s lips, but John was quick and moved just far enough away that Sherlock couldn’t reach him, his shoulders straining a little as he leaned forward.

John presses his hand into Sherlock’s chest and pushed him back down, smoothing his hands over the soft, pale skin of Sherlock’s chest, feeling his heart stutter under his hand as he swung a leg over to straddle Sherlock’s hips. He leaned back down and this time, their lips met full on and John was almost surprised by how eager Sherlock suddenly was, his tongue pressing insistently into John’s mouth, his teeth worrying just a little at John’s lip. John was only almost surprised because it was nearly always like this with Sherlock, he never seemed to think it was a good idea until he suddenly did, and then it was the best idea anyone ever had.

The evidence of just how good that idea had been was pressing firmly against John’s arse, and he shifted slightly to rub against it, bringing a low groan from Sherlock’s lips. He slid down Sherlock’s body, dragging his tongue over the sharpness of Sherlock’s collarbones, closing his lips around the pale peaks of his nipples. Everything he did was answered with a gasp or a moan, Sherlock’s body shifting restlessly under him, every touch a surprise with Sherlock’s eyes covered. John dipped his tongue into Sherlock’s belly button and then nipped along the edge, kissing a biting a path to the rise of Sherlock’s hip bone. He loved to circle his tongue around the peak and lave it through the hollows, closing his mouth around the sensitive skin there and sucking, bringing up a deep purple bruise that would rest just under Sherlock’s waistband. 

John pushed Sherlock’s leg wider apart and settled comfortably between them, tracing his fingers over the slim musculature of Sherlock’s thighs. Sherlock tilted his hips up and John could see a little smirk curving up Sherlock’s lips, a smirk that said Sherlock had everything figured out. Normally, John would do everything he could to stay one step ahead of Sherlock, but tonight, that wasn’t really the point. The point was to make Sherlock forget he ever knew how to think, even for a minute, and John knew from experience that his mouth was a pretty quick way of accomplishing that. He pressed his hands firmly into Sherlock’s thighs and held them apart, and for a moment the room felt oddly silent, Sherlock holding his breath eagerly, John completely still for the second before he leaned in, swiping his tongue from the base of Sherlock’s cock all the way to the tip.

Sherlock let loose a strangled groan that may have contained the component parts of John’s name, and strained against the tie holding him to the bed. John cast his eyes up as he slid his mouth down Sherlock’s cock and watch as Sherlock thrashed his head from side to side, the blindfold starting to slip. It amazed him every time just how sensitive Sherlock was, how everything seemed to feel double for him, how responsive and loud and wonderful he was from the moment John had finally gotten his hands on Sherlock’s skin. John flicked his tongue over the wet head of Sherlock’s cock and then swallowed him deep, revelling in the guttural moan that rumbled through his chest, and being very grateful that not many people had gotten to have all of this before him.

John waited until Sherlock’s hips started to rock and his breath was coming in quick gasps before pulling off with a wet pop, wrapping his hand around Sherlock’s cock and stroking it slowly, too slowly if Sherlock’s protests meant anything.

“John, please John.” Sherlock’s voice was rough and deep, and John swept his thumb over the sensitive head of Sherlock’s cock as his own cock jumped between his legs. He stroked Sherlock’s thigh with his other hand, gentling him, and let go of his cock long enough to learn forward and retrieve the nearly empty tube of lube from under the pillow. At the sound of the tube being opened, Sherlock let out a sigh that nearly made John laugh out loud it was so transparently relieved, but his laugh caught in his throat when Sherlock shifted beneath him. He looked utterly debauched, wrists bound behind him, the tender skin there just starting to pink up. His hair utterly disheveled, the blindfold not quite in place anymore, a flush spreading down from his cheeks over his pale chest. John couldn’t help but reach out to finger the dark mark he’d left on Sherlock’s hip, and he dug his teeth into his lip at the whimper that it brought from Sherlock’s lips, and the way he spread his legs impossibly wide, looking so wanton and needy and beautiful that John felt slightly overwhelmed.

“John, please.” He was near breathless now, and John was shook from his reverie, two slick fingers pushing into Sherlock quickly and deeply. Sherlock arched into it, taking it gorgeously, and John moved maybe a little faster than he should have, pushing in a third finger nearly straightaway. 

Sherlock was panting beneath him, rocking into every one of John’s thrusts easily and gracefully, and John swept his eyes all over Sherlock’s body from the place his fingers were plunging into to Sherlock’s lips, reddened and swollen from kisses and Sherlock’s own teeth. John’s fingers unerringly found that spot inside Sherlock that made him come undone, pressing into it and massaging it ruthlessly until Sherlock was keening, his cock curving hard and wet against his belly. “John, John, John.” John’s name fell from Sherlock’s lips like a chant, like a prayer, and John leaned forward, stretching himself over Sherlock’s lean body until he could press kisses to his face and speak close and soft. 

“Shhh, Sherlock, hang on.” John slid his fingers out slowly, catching Sherlock’s whimper with a kiss. He grabbed Sherlock’s hip with his slick hand and held him, pressing the blunt head of his cock against Sherlock’s hole for a few long moments before finally sliding home. John couldn't’ help the deep, messy groan that ripped from his chest; in all his life, he wasn’t sure he’d ever come across something that felt as good as being buried deep inside Sherlock, hot and slick and tight and perfect. He still remembered the flush that had spread across his face when Sherlock sat him down at the kitchen table and lay out test results for both them, clean, so why should they bother with condoms? To this day, John wasn’t sure how Sherlock had gotten his blood for the test, and if he was honest, he was far happier not knowing. Especially if it meant he got to do _this_.

Sherlock wrapped his long legs around John’s waist and pulled him closer, deeper, his arms straining against the tie, his desire to touch obvious. His blindfold had slipped nearly completely off, and John could see one eye gone dark with lust, and reached up to pull it the rest of the way off, leaning in to capture Sherlock’s lips in a hungry kiss. They moved together with practiced ease, Sherlock’s body was long, gorgeous lines and graceful movements, John’s sturdy and powerful, his hips fucking into Sherlock with deep, precise thrusts. He reached between their bodies and wrapped a hand around Sherlock’s straining cock, stroking it fast and artless, Sherlock fucking himself into John’s expert grip. Sherlock was babbling now, nonsense spilling from his lips, but now it was the kind of nonsense John could understand. Please and yes and harder and _John_ and John gave Sherlock everything he asked for and more.

When Sherlock came, his body arched like a bow, and John wished he could keep that picture with him forever. He shouted John’s name like it was being punched out of him, the muscles in his arms cording with the effort of pulling against his bonds. He spilled hot and wet between them, and John traced his fingers through the mess as his hips stuttered, his own climax barrelling down on him. He dropped his head to Sherlock’s shoulder when it hit him, digging his teeth into Sherlock’s skin to muffle his shout as his cock pulsed inside Sherlock, filling him and making the slide even slicker and more perfect. John slumped against Sherlock’s chest, getting himself together enough to reach up a hand and untie Sherlock’s wrists while he worked on catching his breath. Sherlock’s hands immediately found John’s skin, sweeping over his back and feathering through his hair, hungry touches that were making up for lost time.

They lay that way for a long time, long enough that it was officially early, the sun peeking through the curtains. John finally started to get uncomfortable, the puddle on Sherlock’s stomach starting to dry and glue them together. He reluctantly got up, both of them wincing when John’s cock slid out of Sherlock’s slick hole, and returned with a damp cloth, doing a cursory clean up before tossing the cloth to the floor and gratefully climbing back into bed. John tossed his arm over Sherlock’s sweaty chest and settled in, and was just beginning to doze when Sherlock sat up so quickly he nearly tossed John directly onto the floor. “Of course, I’m so stupid, why didn’t I see. Mangos, John, not bananas, mangos!” He was out of bed before John could even open his mouth to ask what the bloody hell fruit had to do with anything, but John decided he was happy enough not knowing. John was just tugging the blankets back up over himself when Sherlock stuck his head back into the bedroom, still stark naked with wild hair and eyes even wilder with the excitement of puzzle-solving, and grinned. “Thank you, by the way. Sometimes your ideas do have merit.” With that, he was off, the familiar clatter of detecting a comfortable kind of white noise lulling John to sleep. Coming from Sherlock Holmes, that was compliment enough for John to chalk this up as a serious success. And well, he had gotten Sherlock to stay in bed for more than ten minutes, after all.


End file.
